


Blame

by gala_apples



Category: Macdonald Hall - Gordon Korman
Genre: Food Sex, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-18
Updated: 2011-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-27 11:57:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/295607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is everyone's fault. But mostly Frank Epperson's fault, for inventing popsicles in 1905.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blame

It was all The Fish's fault. The Fish, who had to teach Life Lessons and make his students Responsible. There wasn't a thing that annoyed Bruno more than a man who had to harp on and cause misery for everyone around him. He was the only one allowed to do that. Besides, he didn't harp, he orated, and he didn't cause misery, he caused insanity. The Fish, on the other hand... It was May twenty seventh, and the entire dorm was sweating their balls off. But Mr Sturgeon didn't care. Not a single ounce.

Just thinking about it made him want to rant. The problem there was moving any muscle would only make him more sweaty and sick from the heat. Even if he laid perfectly still, except for propping his head with pillows, the mere act of moving his jaw would cause a rush of blood to the face, which would make him warmer. And it would strain his neck to look up like that. He was perfectly happy lying on his stomach, face turned towards Boots.

Apparently The Fish thought they would learn a lesson, sweltering. Bruno highly doubted it. He was currently having a surge of thoughts, but exactly zero were related to the lessons Mr Sturgeon would want him to have. Among other things, he was developing a good sense of blame.

It was all Sidney's fault. He had fallen against Elmer's latest piece of machinery, and had hit the worst possible button. Or switch. Or pull-here string. Bruno had no idea what Elmer had been working on, and like all other thousand students at MacDonald Hall, didn't care. That stuff was strictly between Elmer, Mary Lou, the science teacher, and The Fish when Elmer had to be released onto the world for science fair contests.

Whatever it's composition, Sidney had done exactly the wrong thing to it. The machine had turned unstable, and of course it had been plugged into the wall. Meaning, every room in dormitory three had lights flicker, brown out, and die. Bruno had no claim to knowledge about electricity, but he thought it was as simple as throwing the main switch, which would be somewhere in a basement. Apparently not, as dorm three lived in darkness for two days, until a truck came out. The lights came back on, but the air conditioning did not. Apparently the graduating men of dorm three did not deserve it, it would be back in September.

It was all Larry's fault. George Smythe-Wesson might have known all about germs and diseases, but Alex Quincy knew all about Freud and disorders. According to Alex, Larry had a problem with stopping up his emotions. According to Alex, it was unhealthy to stay quiet and calm for a long time, only to spew forth rage at a completely innocent bystander. Bruno didn't find it wrong, partly because he was used to venting at entire lunch tables of innocent bystanders, and partly because it was sort of entertaining to watch Larry have a meltdown.

This time, Larry's explosion was at his roommate, Sidney. Granted, it was hilarious to see Sidney back out the door and trip on the metal bit protecting the edge of the carpet. A lot of the boys didn't even bother to open their door to see what had happened; hallmates of Sidney Rampulsky were by this time completely blasé about thuds and crashes and even screams. Less hilarious was Sidney taking cover in Elmer's room, with Elmer shrieking at him to -not touch anything! - get out!- that's sensit-

Bruno supposed if he really thought about it, it was conceivable that it was all his fault. It wasn't as though he was a dictator, giving orders or death to all the mere peasants around him, though he had been accused of such a thing. And it wasn't like he wanted to be a preacher, offering salvation or torment based on following the right and proper way. He wasn't into religion, regardless of Mr Fudge's opinion that if he didn't go to university, he could always start a cult and have thousands of followers.

Bruno considered himself more like a contractor building a house. He was willing to get his hands dirty in any way that was needed, but it didn't change the fact that certain people were better for certain jobs. In the same way that the electrician checked the circuits and the landscaper made sure to put cacti in dry areas, Wilbur did the heavy lifting and Chris did the rally posters. So when he needed to know the next time that The Fish was gone for a few hours, he asked Larry, his connection to The Man. The contractor asks the plumber to check the drains, Bruno asked Larry when Sturgeon would be away. And Larry had twitched his eyelids, put his binder in his backpack, and proceeded to go back to his room and scream at Sidney.

On second thought, it probably wasn't his fault at all. Maybe it was Larry's parents' fault, for raising an unstable son?

Really, it was Elmer's fault. What kind of crazy teenager built a highly sensitive machine in a private school full of other teenagers? But he knew the answer; the same teenager that had been doing it for the last six years. If the rest of the school was still surprised, then they were all complete morons. Bruno sighed. It wouldn't do to blame Elmer; he had to find someone better.

Oh! It was all The Original Brand Popsicle's fault. Damn them and their delicious tasting frozen treats. What with it being plus thirty, everyone in dorm three was taking as many measures as possible to stay cool. A large faction of dorm three had taken to staying in the library or the cafeteria playing cards, while those that had friends in dorm one or two fled there until lights off. Ice packs were going for a premium, and a week ago Wilbur had called an ice cream truck company and told them they'd double their business if they parked on the shoulder of the highway outside the school. Most had scoffed at Wilbur, but he'd gotten revenge when the same individuals could be found walking down the driveway to the car at all times of the evening.

And what was Boots doing? Eating a creamsicle. A perfectly innocent thing, just a shell of flavoured ice wrapped around sweet dairy. Bruno had a score of memories of eating them during the summer, the most recent being three hours ago.

But. But Boots wasn't the type to eat the shell off, and then quickly slurp up the ice cream, laughing as it dripped over dirty skinned knees and his mother's new couch. But Boots wasn't taking bites of the creamsicle so he could taste the orange and the vanilla at once. No. What Boots was doing, was eating it sexily. And that just wasn't right.

Bruno wanted with all his heart to blame Boots, but he couldn't. Even though Boots was being ridiculous with his creamsicle, he probably had no idea. Just like Bruno had been eating his own popsicles by biting off the shell as quickly as possible -there was a natural high that came with a brain freeze- his whole life, Boots had probably had this technique his whole life. Wrapping his lips around the creamsicle and holding it there, letting it melt a little in the wet heat of his mouth before pulling up, sucking up the melted juice. It was good, as far as popsicle eating theory went, allowed for maximum flavour tasting.

There was no question though, that in the eyes of the wrong person at the wrong time, it could be seen as utterly obscene. Lips in an O around a cylinder, mouth slowly moving up and down, adam's apple quivering as loud sucking noises filled the room. Bruno was lucky he had extreme heat as an excuse for not moving, he could watch hardly blinking and not be questioned, whereas on a normal day Boots would be getting uncomfortable any moment now. As it was, Bruno was the one who was uncomfortable; his hard cock had been pressing against the mattress for the last seven minutes, and would have at least three to five minutes left. And it wasn't like the thing was smart enough to go down as soon as Boots was finished the creamsicle. Oh no, that would be way too easy.

It was definitely all The Original Brand Popsicle's fault. Such a fantastically cold, good tasting, cheap treat, in a variety of flavours. Boots would never get sick of eating creamsicles, and Bruno didn't know whether or not to be happy. If he didn't choose happy, the other possibility was hysterical, and that was really more of a Scrimmage reaction then he ever wanted to demonstrate.

"You know, if you get to stare, I should get to stare too." The comment came from nowhere, and Bruno was totally thrown. Hastily, he thought up a decent retort.

"I'm not staring, I'm conserving my energy by not moving."

"Right." For a brief moment Bruno thought he'd gotten past Boots. But Boots had known him years too long to get away with lies that easily. "Would you still be conserving your energy if I didn't have my lips around a phallic object?"

"What?" Boots knew? "What did you say?"

"If you stopped only staring at my mouth, and looked down a bit further, you'd see you're not the only one who gets hard when I have something in my mouth."

"That is _not_ what you originally said." It's the only coherent statement Bruno could make.

"Well," Bruno stared as Boots replied with a wicked grin, then put the creamsicle back between his lips. The ambient temperature of the room had melted it quite a bit, and Bruno could only wince and think boring thoughts as Boots sucked.

This was clearly Boot's mother's fault. She hadn't taught him proper etiquette.

"Look. We'll talk again tomorrow, okay? You've had a bit of sensory overload, I can tell. I'll pretend not to notice if you want to run off to the bathroom though." Boots moved the treat back to his mouth, now nothing but quickly melting vanilla ice cream on a stick. Making noises reminiscent of a Hoover, he finished it off and threw the stick into the trashcan. Bruno rolled over to face the wall, and willed the entire conversation out of his brain.


End file.
